


When the wind blows southerly.

by Azpidistra



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:36:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azpidistra/pseuds/Azpidistra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Horatio follows the Prince Hamlet to Denmark in wake of the King Hamlet's death, he finds himself caught in the middle of Hamlet's game to kill a king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the wind blows southerly.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teyla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teyla/gifts).



"Milord?" Horatio hurried to close the door behind him, crossing the dorm room in the shortest number of steps he could, coming to stand next to Hamlet. "You are alone?"

"I could stand Rosencrantz and Guildenstern no longer, Horatio." He patted the seat next to him. Horatio sank into it, puzzled to the slow, heavy movements of the prince, of the struggling patterns of his speech. He started to speak, but Hamlet shook his head. "I have news from Denmark."

"What news?"

"Of my father, Horatio." The prince sighed, looking a moment out the window. "I'll be leaving Wittenberg."

"Milord -"

"I do not know when I might make return."

"Oh, my - _milord_ \- my most humble sympathies." He hesitated just slightly in taking Hamlet's hand, grateful when the prince leaned closer as if to whisper secrets, squeezing his hand. Horatio, not wanting - no, unable - to let go, brushed his thumb across the prince's knuckles.

"I trust you to maintain a noble disposition, Horatio," murmured Hamlet.

"Aye, milord." He cupped one hand around his price's cheek, turning Hamlet's face to him again. "I will follow when I may, milord."

"I am grateful," the prince replied, leaning in to the touch.

*****

When Horatio saw Denmark again, it was not yet fully two weeks later, and already the funeral had passed, as had the wedding. He quipped as he could, following Marcellus and Bernardo in their late night watch. They warned him of the prince's melancholy cloak, asking if he at least might make the prince smile again. Horatio looked away, and said he'd do what he could, drawing his own cloak closer around himself.

When he brought Hamlet the next night, having greeted him in the hall the next morning - and oh, _wishing_ the hug might have lasted longer than it had - it was he who afterwards listened to Hamlet further draft his plan, holding him by the shoulders as he faltered just slightly, and holding him close when he finally slept.

Horatio slept not at all that night.

******

He stayed for as long as he dared. Days turned to weeks. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern soon followed at the King's request; Hamlet explained his plan (I am mad but north northwest, he elaborated), seeking out the truths behind their sudden arrivals.

Horatio watched Hamlet. Not for king or country, no matter the king. He was beginning to have his own doubts if the wind blowed as southerly as the prince seemed to think.

******

" _It's been twice two months, my lord...._ "

The prince was murmuring. Leave my friends, he had said, but Horatio lingered in the doorway, watching as the prince assembled his thoughts as to what just had progressed. (Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out.) He waited while the prince murmured and paced, hands still fingering the recorder.

“My - my lord,” he said hesitantly when the prince turned to leave.

"Ho! _Horatio_! Still here? I must to my mother’s, she sends for me, as much as any mother can send for her son.”

Horatio closed his eyes, glancing almost helplessly at the prince. “Promise me, milord, you will do nothing so rash as you might be lay open to regret come morning.”

“Rash? Oh, I promise I cannot. I will to kill a king, Horatio. But! Oh! Did you see it, Horatio? How the king stood, raced from this room like a horse with no owner! Oh, oh! _Horatio_. I am as giddy as I have ever been. Giddier. I cannot believe my good fortune." Hamlet nearly danced, a few quick steps where he stood, puffing a few more notes from the recorder still in hand. "It is as good as a confession, I should think. That is to say, he has nearly as good as confessed. Do you not agree, Horatio?"

"I know not what to think. I saw the King race from this very room for certain, face drained of all color, and a storm brewing in his wake, but I know not what he might think you meant. You must tread carefully, my prince, if you want a sure confession," he pleaded, Hamlet’s unpromise still ringing in his ears.

"I -" Hamlet look flustered, the recorder dropping to his side. "Most certainly, Horatio." He grinned quite rakishly again. "But oh, the look in his eyes."

"Indeed, milord," Horatio agreed, wondering. While Hamlet had focused on the king, he focused on the prince, observing not just his momentary glee at catching a king, but baiting his old friends, the king's right hand man. Seeing clouds in the sky where there were no sky nor clouds, and teaching friends to play the recorder when they had no ear for such things.

He glanced to where the prince stood now. Hamlet stood still, head bent, eyes focused on the placings of his fingers on the instrument, lips puffed together as if he might be whistling, but no sound came. That momentarily bit of rakish happiness gone, the full weight of what he had witnessed - the sheer information he now knew - settling on his shoulders where he stood, processing what he now must do.

To kill a king, he had said.

Horatio shuddered as he heaved in a deep breath. A man not a slave to passion's heart, Hamlet had said, and it had been the sweet moment he had craved in the time since he had come. He might have believed his prince - his sweet, sweet prince - was in there still, beneath this need for vengeance. That troublemaker, and poet, and prankster.

He needed Horatio to remain calm, Horatio realized, calm for where he could not. The prince was so full of passion at the best of times, that he knew nought how to truly stand still.

To kill a king, he had said. When the wind blows southerly.

Dost thou see a whale?

Horatio sighed. Had this gone too far? Had Hamlet lost sight of his path, played with games too deep and too complex even for him?

He crossed the room to where Hamlet stood, and touched a hand gently to the prince's shoulder. "Sweet prince," he murmured.

"Horatio!" Hamlet answered, surprised, smiling brightly. "Still here."

He touched a hand to the prince's temple, pressing back the unruly mess of hair, aware the prince watched his every move.

There was exhaustion in Hamlet's brow, and sadness buried in his eyes. Horatio dropped his hand to Hamlet's neck, and gripped tighter than he might otherwise.

“I must, Horatio,” Hamlet whispered. “To my mother.” He touched Horatio’s cheek softly, if albeit briefly. “I am to kill a king, Horatio.”

"Not tonight, milord. Come, my prince, to bed, wait until morning.” He wondered if Hamlet could hear the desperation in his voice as well as he. This need for Hamlet to not seek this vengeance, to turn from this very path of madness. “You will think clearer with the rising of the sun."

“I cannot, my dear sweet friend, I cannot.” Was that regret Horatio heard in the Prince Hamlet’s voice? But it mattered not, for he continued, “To my mother, I must.”

******

Horatio sought Gertrude in the morning, only to confirm Hamlet _had_ visited, murdering Polonius before her eyes. (Horatio wished Hamlet had listened to him, had come to bed, and not weaseled - yes, _weaseled_ \- from under his hand, and hurried from the room. He wished now he had gone after Hamlet. He wished he understood all for sure, just what the prince was playing at.)

He said none of this, instead he sunk low to one knee, and said, "Your Majesty,” and whether he was begging or asking or simply saying, he didn't know.

"I fear my son may be lost to us both, Horatio." She touched the top of his head, her hand resting there for a moment. "You have always been a good friend to my son. I ask you now, see that he is well."

I may be too late, is what lay on the tip of his tongue. But he tipped his head, and swallowed the words. "Always, Your Majesty," is what he said.

When he saw Queen Gertrude next, it was when she announced Ophelia's death.

He nearly smiled at the irony, but caught himself just in time.

******

Hamlet was a changed man when he returned from England.

"I had to," he whispered fiercely, practically climbing into Horatio's lap, his hands gripping hard on Horatio's cheeks, face inches from his. "You understand, Horatio. Sweet, sweet Horatio. Tell me you understand why I did -"

"I do, milord," he assured.

But he wasn't sure.

But it was what the prince wanted to hear, and when the prince kissed him passionate as ever, long and deep and so very certain, all Horatio could do was wind his fingers in the prince's hair - _his_ prince, for Hamlet was still very much his, he knew, still, in all this - tightly, just as surely as he kissed in return.

*******

When he pulled Hamlet from Ophelia's grave, it was all he could do to hold on.

The girl might have died by water, but in this moment, he felt like he was the one drowning.

*******

Follow my mother, Hamlet had said, before stumbling into Horatio's arms.

I am more antique Roman than Dane, but Horatio was stopped by Hamlet's hand.

A kiss, lingering, seeking truth and (maybe) retribution; seeking out Hamlet's last shreds of sanity, and Horatio knew then the wind had not always blown southerly.

"Oh, Horatio," Hamlet murmured, reaching to cup his cheek, and Horatio bent his head. "The things I could tell you, but no." He coughed, and smiled, fingers falling away. "No, the rest is silence."

"Now cracks a noble heart," Horatio whispered back, and laid a kiss to rest on his prince's brow.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you to my fabulously wonderful beta, T. She continues to fight the good fight against commas when I cannot. Also as always, Hamlet is not mine.


End file.
